Firewhiskey and Cedar
by DragonLady37
Summary: "Why?" she asked, staring up at him. "Why are you worried?" she almost shouted with more misdirected anger. "My husband left me. I'm angry about it. It's a pretty bloody normal reaction!" "Your husband left you because you're so angry, Granger." / Dramione, one-shot, weirdly NOT a romance (sort of)


**This was previously in my story "Snippets." I decided to give it its own home and revise it a bit. I felt like I was playing favorites with my story-children. So, I give you a little angsty one-shot that goes against all my fluffy Dramione desires.**

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The room spun as Hermione threw back another shot of Ogden's Finest. It burned her throat, as had every other shot that preceded it, but she welcomed the pain. Her mouth was sore from all the shots she'd taken, but it felt like it would never be enough. She looked around the bar, the other people in it still in focus, despite how the floor tilted this way and that. If she wanted them to blur, she needed more. If she wanted her life to blur, she needed more.

"Another, please," she said to the bartender, her voice surprisingly clear despite how the man in front of her seemed to be rocking on a boat.

"I think you've had enough," the young man said, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked, leaning forward, only to catch herself on the bar top as she wobbled, the ground shifting beneath her.

"Everyone knows who you are," came a new voice from her left. She spun, closing her eyes as dizziness overwhelmed her. She opened her eyes again and wished she hadn't. The man in front of her wasn't blurred as she wished.

"What are you doing here, Draco?" she groaned, exasperated.

"Looking for you," he said as he sat, lifting his hand toward the bartender, who sat a glass of Ogden's in front of the blond as well. He picked it up and took a sip, releasing a breath after in a way that let Hermione know it burned his throat, too.

"I wish you wouldn't," Hermione said, dropping her forehead to her folded hands as the firewhiskey threatened to come back up. "I wish you'd just leave me alone." Her voice was muffled and her breath was hot and rank.

"Can't do that, Granger," he said as he sipped his firewhiskey again. "Here." He poured a vial into her empty glass. "Sober-Up potion. Drink it before you throw up on my new shoes."

Hermione growled, pushed herself up, and glared at him. He sipped his firewhiskey again and nodded toward the glass, his signature smirk on his stupid, handsome face. "Brewed it myself," he said, sitting his glass on the bar. "So you know it's the best."

With a huff, Hermione threw the potion back, grimacing at the bitter flavor. As soon as she swallowed, the room stopped tilting and the buzz she'd been cultivating vanished. The nausea was the last to go, and when it was gone, she let out a little sigh.

"OK. I'm sober. Mission accomplished. You can report back to the office that I won't splinch myself while apparating and embarrass the ministry," she said as she slid off the stool to leave, all of her sadness rushing back like a tidal wave.

"Is that why you think I'm here?" he asked, his voice soft as he pushed the majority of his Ogden's away.

"Why else would you be?" she spat out. "Just trying to climb the ladder by caring for the poor little muggleborn," she growled, her glare cold, her anger misdirected.

Draco gritted his teeth and glared at the table. She watched his hands clench and unclench and regret filled her up. She wasn't being fair. From their first day as partners, he'd been nothing but kind. And now she was ripping into him, because she was angry and hurt. She was pushing him away, just like she'd pushed everyone else away. She choked out, "I'm sorry. I - "

"Get home safe, Granger," he said, throwing some coins onto the table and standing to leave, his voice dull and lifeless.

She watched him go. Watched the door close behind him. Watched him walk away, just like Harry had. Just like Ron had. Just like everyone had over the last few years.

She wasn't going to follow. There was no reason to. She wouldn't cave and -

"Bloody hell," she said as she stood, paid for her drinks in a rush, and practically ran down the street after him, grateful for the sober-up he'd brought her.

"Malfoy!" she called. He was walking up ahead and didn't even pause in his stride, though she knew he heard her. She shook her head and picked up her pace, more winded than she should be from all of her recent drinking. "Draco, _please!_" She grabbed his arm.

He stopped and sighed. "I didn't come because someone from work _sent_ me," he said, gritting his teeth as he turned to face her. "Though, if they knew what state you were in most nights, you'd probably be canned." He pulled his arm from her hand roughly. "I came because I was worried about you."

"Why?" she asked, staring up at him. "Why are you _worried?_" she almost shouted with more misdirected anger. "My husband left me. I'm angry about it. It's a pretty bloody normal reaction!"

"Your husband left you _because_ you're so angry, Granger." His voice was calm in the face of her volatility and she felt tears spring to her eyes. "The war damaged us all, and - "

"My husband left me to get away from what I've _turned into_," she said, stepping into his personal space, her eyes narrowed in anger. "We were in love, you know?" she said, fighting the urge to break with the memory of Ron, how he'd looked at her near the end - with pain and pity in his soft blue eyes. "And I botched it. I let the war stay with me, let it poison me, even after it was said and done, and it drove him away." Tears broke free and trailed down her face. "So tell me again, _why are you here?_" She shoved him, her hands connecting with his pressed suit. He barely wavered. "I'm broken. I'm bloody ruined. So why - " she shoved him. " - are you - " another shove. " - here?" she shoved him one final time, her hands remaining on his chest, shaking slightly.

He sighed as he looked down at her. Her hair was a mess. Her cheeks were tear-stained and red. Her clothes were wrinkled and she reeked of alcohol.

"I'm here," he said, gripping her shoulders with firm hands, "because I'm broken, too. _Because I'm bloody angry, too._" His fingers gripping her shoulders spasmed. "And because I _bloody care about you_." His chest was heaving, but his voice stayed low.

Hermione looked up at him, looked up into his eyes, which were open and wild. Yet, despite how unstable he looked, despite how his chest moved with his great lungfuls of air, his grip on her shoulders was soft, as if he were afraid she might break.

"Besides," he said, his voice gruff, and she met his eyes again. "We're partners. Right? We're supposed to look out for each other."

"At work, we're partners," she said, her previous vitriol gone, her voice quiet and watery.

"We're _partners,_" he said, squeezing her arms lightly. "On duty or not. I've got your back, and I know you've got mine. OK?"

The softness, the raw emotion that she saw in his eyes nearly broke her. "OK," she choked out before the floodgates opened.

Ron had left her. Her sweet, funny Ron, her best friend, had left her. It had been nearly a year to the day, and it still ached like a fresh wound every time she pictured his face. She was falling into a pit of alcohol and loneliness. She was falling and could find no handholds. Her fingers, still resting on Draco's chest, gripped his shirt as if that might keep her upright.

"Let me take care of you for a while," Draco said, stepping a bit closer. He smelled like cedar, like the blankets her mother had kept in a cedar chest when she was a girl. The smell had always been a comfort and she found herself breathing deeply and slowly.

"OK," she breathed before she fell against his chest. His arms encircled her immediately and he held her to him firmly, but still gently, again as if she might break. She listened to his heartbeat - slow and steady - and breathed in the smell of cedar and security as she clung to his waist. All the pain from the last year, from the years before that, from the war, roiled beneath the surface and she heard herself begin to sob as his arms tightened around her.

Through the fog of pain, she felt his warmth. She felt his lips press against her curls as his arms firmed up around her. "I've got you, Granger," he said, his voice heavy with relief, and she clung to him even tighter. "I've got you."


End file.
